


These Thoughts of You

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Series: Marked and Branded [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair or Stoud working alone is silly, And Stroud is bossy, Angst, F/M, Friendly Assassin Zevran, Hardened Alistair (Dragon Age), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lost Love, Nathaniel is here for the ride, Oghren is a loveable drunk, Ten Years Later, They Have Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: Set after "Marked", before "Branded".
Alistair dreams of the only woman who has ever had his heart, but dreams are cruel when you know you have to wake.
But life is never at it seems, and sometimes second chances get passed by.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On the timeline, it is set after “Marked”, and falls at the start of “Branded”. I know Branded isn’t up yet, but I wanted to give you all a teaser. ;)
> 
> Song Inspiration is: “You” by Keaton Henson (Female Cousland and Alistair’s theme song)

On the timeline, it is set after “Marked”, and falls at the start of “Branded”. I know Branded isn’t up yet, but I wanted to give you all a teaser. ;)

Song Inspiration is: “You” by Keaton Henson (Female Cousland and Alistair’s theme song)

THESE THOUGHTS OF YOU

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

[](https://www.flickr.com/gp/152592576@N08/8922x2)

(Side story in the “Marked Series”)

* * *

_The familiar scent of the campfire burned in his nose, but there was another scent. One that was haunting, and his gut clenched painfully tight, and he knew before he opened his eyes what vision would lay before him. The smell of roses. The smell of_ her. _A twinkling, bell like laughter reached his ears and he felt a hand ghost across his cheek. It would be so easy to sink into the illusion, and believe that it was_ her _touch._

_There was a rustle of the bed roll, and a slim warm body leaned towards him. “You are not very good at playing opossum,” a breathy whispered tickled his ear, and a light hearted giggle followed. The body pulled back, and he felt her lay her head down on her arm. Soft, warm skin and silk strands of hair brushed against his arm. “Wakey. Wakey,” the laughter was identical to hers, and he felt her fingertips ghost down his abs. “You don’t want to make Zevran come in here, and wake you up. Or better yet, I’ll have Morrigan do it.”_

_“No need to be cruel,” Alistair said, with a genuine wince. Even if this was a dream, he did not want dream Morrigan or dream Zevran to come marching on in. He had no desire for those kind of nightmares, thank you very much. It took him a moment, but he forced his eyes open. The old wound in his chest tore open at the sight of those wide blue eyes staring at him, with the sweet sadness in them. Her soft pink lips pulled into that contagious smile, and she was so close that he could reach out. Draw his fingers across the porcelain flesh, and revel in the softness that was her again._

_But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t Ashlinn. Just a trick._

_“I’ve made you sad,” Ashlinn whispered, running her hand up his torso until she placed her palm over his heart. A genuine upset look flashed across those features as well as a great deal of pain. “It was not my intention. Your pain called out to me. A painful yearning for love lost, and your heart…” She shivered, and her eyes closed for a moment. “It’s so cold. Colder than anything I ever felt. Like a never ending winter where nothing can take root and grow. Frozen to preserve the place where your missing half used to reside in hopes of that one day it will return.”_

_Alistair frowned. Not a demon. A demon wouldn’t have easily admitted to being a fraud, not unless it decided he wasn’t worth the effort and just kill him. No, it would have attempted to make the illusion more elaborate to ensnare him. Either way, he felt too exhausted to do this. Between the faint song of the Calling in the back of his mind and battling demons with offers of happiness and restoring what once was his, Alistar had no patience to deal with any sort of spirit. Good or bad. “Please leave,” he told it, his voice steady. His hand came up and removed hers that rested up his chest. “I know you are spirit that thinks that you are helping, but you are misguided. I need nor want no comfort from the Fade.”_

_The benevolent spirit wearing his love’s smile looked at him so sadly, and wistfully. “It’s funny,” the spirit whispered, reaching out to touch his face. Now that he knew it for what it was the touch felt hollow, and the ache in his chest grew tenfold. “She said the same thing.”_

_Alistair’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Who—”_

He was torn from his dream by someone shaking his shoulder roughly, and he jolted into a sitting position with a hand on his sword ready to fight. His tensed muscles relaxed when he recognized the outline of Nathaniel Howe, and he demanded in a quiet whisper, “The other wardens?” Even in the darkness, Alistair could see the corner of Nathaniel’s lips pinch in silent confirmation. “How close?” 

“Close enough,” Oghren’s voice came from the other side of the dark cave. There was a clink of heavy armor and the shuffle of feet before the red haired dwarf appeared at the mouth of the cave with his battle ax in hand. 

Nathaniel nodded. “I know not the numbers. It is possible it is Stroud, but I think it would be best to gather our things to be prepared to move on if it is not,” Howe stated, with a deep set frown on his face. 

Oghren snorted. “We’ve stayed too long on the Storm Coast too long. We should have moved on long before now,” the dwarf grumbled, unhappily. He took out his flask, and took a healthy sip before he put it away. 

“We have to wait for Stroud for as long as we can afford to,” Alistair countered, rising from his bed roll. He shook his head, and tried to shove the dream from his mind. He glanced around at the haphazardly put together camp, and sighed heavily. “We don’t have time to pack everything. Grab what you can, and leave the rest behind.” He raised his gaze, and narrowed it on the back wall of the cave until he could make out the silent shadow sitting upon a rock. The dying embers’ light glint of dagger twirling idly in between skilled fingers. “Have you set up what you needed to get them off our trail?” 

“Of course,” the shadow purred, with a smooth Antivan accent. The voice sounded all too smug, and belonged to the one and only Zevran Arainai. “I have a forged letter that states Arl Wulff has offered us shelter for dealing with his bandit problem which will be left behind in our haste conveniently for our pursers reading pleasure,” the elven assassin said, with a toothy smirk. His greenish hazel eyes held a wicked and mischievous gleam. “I have also left trails all over the coast, and false campsites that will have the fools running around in circles for hours. Well, provided we are able to sneak by them now.” 

“How close are they?” Oghren scowled. “I can barely think with the Calling rattling around in my brain.” 

Nathaniel flinched, while Alistair glowered. The Calling had just started about two months prior, and it had hit every Grey Warden in Orlais. Some of his wardens in Ferelden had also begun to hear it so he sent the order for them to pull back from the border between Ferlden and Orlais and return to the Amaranthine fortress. He also ordered that any letters or wardens from Orlais to be put under heavy scrutiny if they dared approach the fortress. Something Warden Commander Clarel had not appreciated on top of his vehement damning of the methods that she proposed when the Calling started. It was the reasons now they were on the run from the group of wardens sent to detain them. Or worse. 

Alistair didn’t under what was entirely going on, but Stroud had mentioned that he had theory. A theory that did not bode well for anyone if were to be true. Stroud had left four days ago to meet with a contact, and they hadn’t seen word of him since. Oghren was helping Zevran sort through everything, and find what they could take when Nathaniel approached him. 

“You had another dream about her. You whispered her name in your sleep,” his fellow warden commented, quietly. “It’s the only time you ever speak her name.” 

Alistair drew in a sharp breath. His greenish hazel eyes narrowed at Nathaniel, and he bit back the urge to snap. His friend meant well, and Nathaniel had known her before she became a Warden. But he could not bear to speak about it. “We aren’t talking about it,” he said, his tone flat and harsh, even to his own ears. 

“It’s been ten years, Alistair,” Nathaniel said, concerned. “Are you never to speak of her ever again?” 

Alistair looked away, his jaw ticked. He couldn’t bear to speak her name, or even to hear it. It was like salt into the wound that festered inside of him for the last decade. Not even in the quiet places of his dreams did he dare to speak her name for each time it passed through his lips, the dream ended. Faded away into nothing, and he awoke with nothing, but a broken heart and a mountain of regrets. 

“Ten years or a hundred, it is still too soon to speak of it,” Alistair said, his tone curt. Time did not heal all wounds, despite what all said. This was not a wound that could be healed. He had begged her to let him make the final sacrifice if Riordan could not see it through, and Ashlinn had at first fought him. It had taken them a good hour of shouting before Ashlinn had broken down, and given into his demand. Or so she had led him to believe. After they had made love for that last time, she had snuck out of the bed when he had fallen deep into sleep to speak with the others behind his back. He’ll never forget that moment when he charged towards the Archdemon only to been held by Sten, Zevran and Oghren as if they’re lives depended on it. 

At first, he didn’t understand until his love rush by them. His eyes and hers locked for a split second. Her eyes begged forgiveness, and he known in that moment what she intended to do. He had screamed, he had fought with all of his might, but he was no match against the trio. And damnit, she had known that. He screamed and begged until his throat was raw as he watched the love of his life make the sacrifice that should have been his to make. 

He’ll never forget the bright flash, the echoing roar and then the stillness that followed. As soon as the hands holding him back dropped, Alistair pulled himself to his feet and stumbled towards the small broken body that laid next to the dead Archdemon. Words could not describe the level of grief that stabbed through him. How his entire world had been ripped from his arms, and he had never felt so hollow and lost than he had in that moment. The utter devastation that burned through him when he pulled her into his arms, and she had been so cold. Pale as death as her life had been ripped out of her in one instant. One split second, and she was gone. There was nothing left. Just a cold lifeless husk covered in dirt, blood and his tears. He cradle her still body to his chest, and broke down. 

His life…his love…was gone, and never to be returned. 

Anger, rage, pain tore him down and he felt empty and lost. Soon it gave away to a soul crushing exhaustion, and Wynne’s gentle whispered words had stirred him to his feet. He carried her back through the wrecked, and broken streets all the way to the castle. It had taken hours for them to pry her from his arms, and everything that followed happened in a blur. Unfamiliar faces came to mourn for a woman that had saved them all, and it had sunk like a bitter stone in his gut. These strangers with weeping faces that would an hour later be joyful over their survival when his love could not do the same. Anora had given her a grand funeral to be remembered, but the pyre that burned the only woman he wanted to be his wife to ash had left him cold inside. 

She had sacrificed herself, and forced him to live a life without her. How could he live without her when her life was his life’s best part? Oh, he had tried to move on. Tried to heed the advice of others as they dealt with their grief, and went on their way. He had drowned himself in the bottle, but thoughts of her would always surface no matter how drunk he got. He had encounters with women, but each left him feeling hollower than the last so they soon ended. He did not search for such company anymore, because none would be her. Nothing could ever replace her. 

So he threw himself into his Warden duty. Through one journey after another, he had served the wardens and rebuilt it. His only solace was that Duncan would have been proud that he managed to do so, even if his grief was a constant companion. When he first awoke to the Calling, his first thought was that he would join his love soon. It was followed by shame because she would not want it to be that way for him. Nathaniel was right that perhaps he should confront it. To speak about her, and to say her name to lessen the painful memories. But he kept the name firmly behind his lips, and he kept her memory possessively for it was all that he had left of her. It was all he was going to have of her. 

There was a noise at the mouth of the cave, and Alistair’s spine drew tight. He motioned for Nathaniel to stay still, and as quietly as he could draw his blade from its scabbard. Every ounce of his body was on high alert as he made his way towards the mouth of the cave. His ears peeled for any noise, and his muscles taunt ready for a fight. He never imagined that he would have to one day fight his fellow wardens, but it seemed like everything was falling apart after the hole was torn in the sky. 

The moonlight cast a shadow at the cave entrance, the silhouette of man and Alistair could barely make out the faint footsteps. He raised his blade at arm height, and held it out ready to lop the head right off the person who was about to walk right into there cave. A foot came into view, followed by a body and Alistair began to swing his sword with all his strength. 

“Maker’s breath!” A familiar voice hissed. 

If Alistair had been a less seasoned warrior, he would have not been able to stop the blade from taking Stroud’s head clean off his shoulders. “By Maker’s nutsack, Stroud!” Alistair lowered his blade, visibly relieved. “You nearly lost your head.” 

Stroud let out a breathless and nervous laugh. “I’m glad that you saw fit to leave it attached,” the older warden said, his chest rose and fell with each troubled breath. “We have company. Other warden about a half a day’s journey behind me, but they are being slowed by a growing storm. If we move out now, we might be able to put a greater distance between us and them.” 

“We are about ready to move,” Alistair stated, sheathing his sword in one smooth movement. “Were you able to find anything about the Calling?” 

“Nothing you are going to like,” Stroud promised, severely. Shadows filled his dark eyes, and every wrinkle became heavily pronounced on his face as his right hand tightened on the satchel on his side. “We can talk more when we find another safe place to hide out. For now, we need to move. Quickly.” 

As soon as they were packed, they headed out of the cave only to be met by a thunderous roar. The temperature had plummeted and the air felt like ice in his lungs. The smell of salt wafted off the ocean, and could be smelt even all the way here. The clouds were being pulled out to see, and started to swirl in the strangest and unnatural way. 

“Is that the storm?” Nathaniel asked, eyes wide. 

Alistair watched the swirling clouds above the ocean as a deafening gale swept through the woods, causing the tree limbs to crack ominously above. Bright green lightning crackled through the clouds, and he felt a fissure of alarm skirt down his spine. 

“That’s no storm,” Oghren said, roughly. 

Oghren was right, Alistair realized. 

“No, it is not,” Zevran agreed, frowning. “In fact, I daresay it looks just like those tears in which demons spawn out of, doesn’t it?” 

“Something tells me if it is, then it not a good thing,” Nathaniel stated, with a deep set frown. “I can’t imagine what kind of damage it could wreak if left unchecked, if this storm is any indication.” 

“It is always storming here,” Oghren pointed out. 

“But this storm is unnatural,” Nathaniel countered. “Do not tell me that none of you can sense that? In the air?” 

“You’re not wrong,” Alistair replied. He could feel magic crackle in the air, and it crawled underneath his skin like fire ants. It was the similar feeling he had got when they approached one of the tears, and his stomach twisted. 

“We don’t have time to spare on it. Let the Inquisition, I believe that’s what they are called, handle it. From the rumors, they have some equipped to deal with it,” Stroud stated, firmly. “Besides the only people nearby are the group of bandits along the coast.” 

Alistair knew that Stoud was right, but as he watched the green lightning flash wildly through the clouds, a knot twisted in his gut. He stared narrowed out as a gale whipped up the coastline and through the thicket of trees with a deafening roar. A sudden need pulsed through his veins that he hadn’t felt in years, and his shoulder bunched forward as his body seemed to prepare to rush down there. It was as if his heart knew something his mind did not, and was pulling him to go down there. Swallowing down the great lump in his throat, he nodded. “Let’s move.” 

He turned away from the coast, and each step that left it behind sent a wave of unease through him. His heart tightened in his chest like a child’s windup toy, and he felt like he hand missed something vital important. He just for the life of him couldn’t understand what he had forgotten. Zevran clapped him on the shoulder, as if sensing his worry and drew him out of his internal struggle. He spared the blond elf a quick smile, and then steeled himself against the torrent of emotions. He couldn’t allow himself to linger on this feelings, not when his fellow wardens were in danger. As he trudged up the long winding path, Alistair did not look back at the shoreline and missed the body that fell out of the storm, and straight into the raging ocean below.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing has ever strike me as silly more so the fact that Alistair or Stroud are alone. Especially Alistair. In my head, Oghren or Nathaniel would have been there. Since Ashlinn Cousland, the female warden, sacrificed herself to slay the Archdemon, the Dragon Age Awakenings with Anders and Nathaniel was done by Alistair. Why is Zevran there? Because he can be. Simple as that. lol


End file.
